“Let’s go to my office so I can give you a proper update, Tide gestured, leading the way.
“I think you’ve told me all there is. “Please take me to Meena. I want to see her. Now that I had the blood transfusion out of the way. I wanted to catch a glimpse of Meena.”
“JK, let’s go to my office first. There is more I need to tell you before you see Meena.” A dread filled me; I could not form the words to the thought that flashed through my mind.
“She is alive, although in a critical condition. Tide reassured me. We were now in what I guessed was her office as she motioned to me to sit down.
“I did not tell you the whole truth. Meena was not rushed here from the office, and your number was in her file, indicating you should only be contacted if anything happened to her. She was involved in a head-on collision and was brought in here unconscious. We were luck y ot have her history as she’s been attending this hospital for her antenatal care, and the pregnancy was indeed a high-risk pregnancy. I was not the doctor seeing her for internal. Everything else mentioned earlier is true.
I took this all in. “How critical is her condition?”
“She is in a coma, and we had to take the baby out,” Tide answered, taking my hands across the table, trying to reassure me.
I felt a huge rock settle on my shoulders. “People from a coma wake up, right? “They do,” Tide responded gravely. She had a swelling around the brain area. We are watching it and monitoring her closely, but there is a danger that she may not regain her memory. Whether that would be in part or in full, we cannot say until she wakes up. The rock had left my shoulders and was now on my chest. I was having difficulty breathing. In a flash, my mind went down memory lane: the first time I met her at that party in a corner with a book in her hand; the day she agreed to date me; our honeymoon; when we had our first child; and the second. Her last trip to Paris. The shock and disappointment when she learnt of the supposed baby from my P.A. Our last memories together were not ones I was proud of or could erase. I did not realise I had been crying and felt the wetness on my face as I came back to consciousness of my surroundings. I was in Tide’s office, and although a few minutes had passed, it seemed like an eternity.
“Can I see her now?” The words tremble, my voice breaking beneath a flood of tangled emotions.
“Her face is swollen and all wrapped in a bandage. She has a broken rib and her arm. A few cuts around her body from the broken glass.” Tide continued. I tried to smile, but it must have shown only as a slight widening of my lips, prompted by the professionalism with which she spoke. It felt like a bad dream, and I wanted to wake up. I stood up, but I couldn’t feel my legs as I followed her. I felt my body moving on its own volition while I watched from the sidelines.
All the description Tide provided did not prepare me for what I saw. Meena was all wrapped up in bandages, almost everywhere and strapped to machines. I gasped and gagged as I felt like throwing up. I held on to the wall, trying to steady myself. I needed to be strong for Meena, the kids and myself. We would get through this as we have always done. A part of me said, while the other argued to let her go, what if she wakes up and is not who she was before the accident?
“How soon can she be moved?” I asked. “I want her in the best facility we can secure.” My voice was steady, final in the tone that leaves no room for discussion.
“Not now, but I have made arrangements for some relevant top professionals in their fields to fly down. The money you transferred has been helpful. Once she is out of the coma, provided that happens and after further observation. If you still want to move her. That can be arranged.
I should be happy that I had found Meena, but this wasn’t how the story was supposed to go.
I gazed at Meena’s picture, which was my screensaver. How does someone disappear from the surface of the earth, just like that, without any trace? I am still surprised I survived the last seven months, hanging by a thread and drawing strength from pouring my energy into my business. It showed: we expanded, hitting the trillion-dollar mark. I should have been thrilled and over the moon, but success had no meaning without Meena by my side. I kept going as it was the outlet that kept me sane. Every breakthrough, every contract won, every company acquired, and every million-goal achieved, till the trillion mark was reached as we had dreamt. Ironically, there was no Meena to celebrate with. The one person who had believed I would make it, even when I doubted myself, was not there. The milestone celebrated by the media and everyone around me meant nothing.
My face was splashed across all the magazines; I had turned down several interviews and still had a long list of interviews to attend. The random women coming at me was another battle, and fending them off was still another greater one. Taking Hauwa’u to the tech award six months ago was to keep the women away. Instead, the media went wild with stories. I still can’t wrap my head around how it came about. My mother was the one who called and asked if I had moved on so quickly from Meena, and why it had to be her friend, and how she did not trust Hauwa’u. The same woman who gave Meena hell is the one protecting her territory in her absence. The thought of Hauwa’u and me was the most ludicrous of the century. Still, having been framed by my receptionist, I was coming to terms with the fact that nothing could surprise me any longer.
My friends and associates were asking me what happened to my wife as a result of the news on social media. It was tiring trying to explain to people close to me who did not know that I, JK, had no idea where my wife and two daughters were, and Hauwa’u was just one of my wife’s closest friends.
The moment Hauwa’u’s husband showed up at my door, I knew without a doubt that inviting her to the tech awards had been a colossal mistake. I was taken aback when I was told Alhaji Sherrif was here to see me. After exchanging pleasantries with a man I had only encountered once or twice—despite the closeness of our wives—I was stunned when he claimed Hauwa’u had eyes on me. I was her closest friend’s husband, yet he said he was shocked to see our supposed relationship splashed across social media. I wondered if I was in some twilight zone.
“This is some sick joke, Sheriff, but even that is too far. If you have any issues, please discuss them with your wife. I cannot even fathom the need to refute such allegations. I have bigger problems to find my missing wife, and I am not looking to replace her, not now and not ever.”
“I thought to come over, I may not have a conventional marriage with Hauwa’u and may have afforded her some liberties not common to a northern woman, but I would not want to be taken for a fool for someone so close to me.”
He got to his feet and, on his way out, tossed one last accusation over his shoulder. “If you were truly serious about finding your wife, you’d be digging into her friends,” he said, and then he was gone.
I did not give much of what he said a second thought as he left my office. Whatever information Meena’s friends had, they had been good at keeping it close to their chests and guarding it with their whole lives to prevent it from even slipping out.
Not long after, a call came through from a strange number, and I almost didn’t pick up, but I did. “JK,” I recognised the voice immediately, “Tide, I asked in wonder. My cousin, whom I had not heard from for over a decade. “One and only coz”, she responded in her usual way. The days we ran Lagos together, flashing through my mind in a millisecond before she fell in love and married. “You, you walked away without a backward glance. You no try at all.“
“Ma binu, you know why I had to cut everyone off, including you or else my mum would have really pressured you. ‘O de ba aburo e soro‘. “
I smiled. Tide was spot on. Auntie Nike, her mom, to this day does not believe that I did not have her contact. After many months of asking me, she gave up, which was one of the reasons I could half-believe that Meena’s friends did not know where she was, even though it was hard to believe.
“So, after 10 years, you suddenly decided to call, ‘Kilode gan‘, if your mom did not accept the Igbo man you brought home and decided to marry. Cutting off your family was not the best, after all, against all odds; she agreed to the wedding”
“JK, let’s not go there. They made our lives a living hell at every family gathering and opportunity. The wedding was a disaster, just like a war zone. I could not bring up children in that toxicity between both families”
“So, you decided to just up and miss from the surface of the earth?” I expressed my displeasure.
“Well, that makes two of us,” she responded quietly, which I almost did not hear.
“What do you mean?” I asked.
“I read on the blogs that tech guru JK’s wife is missing”
I groaned. “Where are you, sef, that you are following Nigeria’s fake news?” I did not want to burden her with my drama.
“I am in the Gambia.”
Dr Tide Jideonwo, I thought you were in the US of A. We were! But we moved to Gambia just 6 months ago. It was the dumbest decision, and it didn’t make sense. Chidi was so sure we should move, and yes, we did. What we did not know was that we were sent ahead because of one coconut head cousin of mine.
“And that is definitely not me. Who is it?”
“You, of course. Coz, get the next available flight and head to Royal Cross Hospital in Banjul. I am so sorry; there is no better way to break this news to you. We are doing our best. With her voice going down a little octave lower, “your wife and baby are in my hospital, and your attention is needed urgently.”
“What are you talking about?” I heard her words, but they did not make sense. We were not expecting any baby when she disappeared on me. You must have the wrong person. I am sure that you have the wrong person.” I heard my voice, but it didn’t sound like me. My heart was racing so fast it frightened me.
“I do not know, but he has your rare blood group.” Whether he is your son or not, that can be checked later. Your wife and baby need you. How soon can you get here? We are seeking a blood donor because we do not have a match in our blood bank.
She was rushed from work and has been in and out of consciousness, but kept asking for JK. I did not know who she was at the time, but when she said JK, I wondered if you were the one. When she gave you her number, between in and out of consciousness, there was a desperate plea to reach you. I dialled the number, and it was yours! How crazy is that?
In one breath, I was relieved that Meena had been found and was reaching out to me, but in the next, apprehensive that Tide might not be telling me everything and that the situation was worse than she was making it out to be.
Without missing a beat, I told her I would be on the next flight to Gambia. I asked whether they needed anything and instructed that no expense be spared to provide them with the best possible care. I asked her to send the hospital’s bank details so I could arrange payment immediately. If they needed to be flown out of the country, I said to do whatever it took.
Meena must be fine. I’ve gone through hell without her. I do not think I will survive losing her. As soon as I dropped the phone, I contacted my PA to instruct the bank to transfer N50,000,000 to the Gambia Hospital, as Tide had sent the bank details via email. I called Alfred Tike, my oil mogul friend with a private jet. I have an emergency – I need an immediate flight to Gambia. Without question or losing a beat, he responded, “I will instruct the pilot to get ready. Just make your way to the tarmac. I will have the pilot call you. If I can be of further assistance, do not hesitate to contact me.
The next step was to call my driver while I picked up my passport from the safe in my office and the only change of clothes I had there. No bag packed, no calls to anyone, and I was out. I was tense but refused to entertain the possibility of losing Meena. Meena left seven months ago. She could not have known that she was pregnant. Gambia! I would never have thought. We had combed the US, the UK, Canada, Australia, and the nearby Accra.
I was on autopilot as I made my way to the airport to catch my flight. The six-hour flight to Gambia was the longest of my life. As soon as I landed, I called Tide. A car was already waiting to take me to the hospital. The car had barely come to a complete stop when I opened the car door and rushed into the reception. Tide was already there waiting for me. “How’s she?” The dread squeezed my heart as I waited for Tide’s response. She hugged me. She is still the same. I will have a nurse check your blood for compatibility and prepare you for the blood transfusion.
A nurse took me away, followed closely by Tide, who briefed me further. “From the notes, she’s begged to give her baby priority over her. It’s been a high-risk pregnancy, and we’ve waited till the best possible time to bring the baby out as healthy as he can be. She wanted the baby so severely that it was at risk to her life. I hung my head in guilt. If anything happened to Meena, the blame would be mine alone. I understood why the baby was her priority; after all, she had endured from my mother, the very reason she had left. While I had never put pressure on having more children, as we were happy with the two children we had, I could not understand why she would go through this alone without reaching out to me. The child was ours. She should never have gone through this alone. I was on a roller coaster of emotions. Sometimes I was angry at myself, then mad at Meena for not believing in me enough to stay. At the same time, another voice will ask whether I would have forgiven Meena if the tables were turned. I was balling my fist at just the thought and slumping in defeat simultaneously. You cannot ask someone what you cannot give in return when faced with the same situation.
“When can I see her and the baby?” Once we are done here, you can see her, but you will see the baby from the glass and later be prepped to go into the ICU.
I read the blogs and comments and laughed it off. Who will believe all the conspiracy theories? Just because JK won a tech award, all the lenses have been pointed at his life, his background, and his history. I saw a post by a random person saying I met JK at a party before going to the university. I did not recognise the name, but that person must have known me or someone who does. No one was there to agree or disagree with the comment.
When they were tired, they would move on to the next big scandal. In Nigeria, it was a scandal every other market day. At best, a story will be on for 2 or 3 weeks. Still, something else always came up, and trust Nigerians to take the matter into their own hands, discussing strangers’ personal issues with so much passion and conviction that one would think they had slept and woken up in the same room with the strangers. No action, no solution, heated arguments and unsolicited advice. It was the 21st-century equivalent of market-square gossip. If we diverted the same energy to solving our national issues, the nation wouldn’t be where it is.
I swiped away from social media to my email, bringing up Meena’s email. I held back responding to her. If I were to start divorce proceedings, JK would know we were in touch, and he would be pissed off that I withheld this information from him, which would damage the access I currently have to him. Moreover, JK would not agree to a divorce without putting up resistance.
Talk about the devil. JK’s call came through. Without any greeting, his voice blaring through my phone, “I would not be needing your Investigator.”
“Why?”I asked, a dread coming over me, another dent to my plans.
“I changed my mind.” His tone sounded final, the kind he must be using in his negotiations. I could not be intimidated by any tone; I have seen much worse in the courtroom or with some unruly clients who think money has made them gods and given them license to speak without being spoken back to.
“Are you not looking for your wife anymore?” I ventured to ask.
“I did not call to be interrogated by you. You seem to think that I do not know that Meena would have been in contact with you women. I have never believed it, and I still do not.”
And just like that, the call went dead. JK had ended the call. Does this guy have some sixth sense? My access to every piece of information from the Investigator would have been my cue to filter any information he received. My frustration was building up. Meena had been gone for more than three months now, and I was no closer to making him see me as the woman he needs. If I have been patient for 10 years and now suddenly fortune has smiled on me with Meena leaving, what is 12 months more of waiting? JK, you can run for all you want. I will get you this time. There is no comeback from Meena. She would never take you back. I sank into my chair, my gaze on the ceiling. I had an exit clause in my marriage to Sheriff. I would finally be with the one I have loved all these years.
I still hadn’t heard from Hauwa after one week, and I wondered whether she had missed my email or was simply overwhelmed with work. I did not want to call, as I was sure JK would leave no stone unturned in getting information out of them, knowing I would contact my closest girlfriends, and I did not want to put them in that position. Although I know my girlfriends would choose to protect me.
The tech awards were all over social media that weekend. From the moment I saw it, I went across all the social media to follow the event. Guess who was filled with so much pride when JK received his award that she momentarily forgot she had moved on? It was me!
I was confused when I saw Hauwa’u at the event, sitting with JK in one of the many videos I watched. The Tech industry was not her space, and even if my friend found herself at an event with JK, she would have made sure to sit many seats away from him. I still don’t understand why Hauwa acted that way, despite JK’s many attempts to be polite and respectful. They seemed to find a way to mutually exist because of me.
It looked weird the way Hauwa’u was gazing at JK like a lovesick teenager in the 10-second video clip. In that instance, I felt a little concerned for her; social media would likely blow it out of proportion, making it a Herculean task to explain to Alhaji, her husband. Worse, she was not even with her veil; her head was all exposed. Hauwa’u grew up in Lagos and did not cover her hair, but started doing so in public after she got married. Veils were left in the car on our nights out, but we weren’t expecting anyone to take pictures of us, and the venues of our nights out were our homes.
I reached for my phone to call Hawa’u, chuckling when I remembered yet again that it was not an option. The more I watched the clips, the more it meant something different. The last thought was preposterous. Hauwa’u and JK. The sun will cease to rise before that could happen. JK has a baby mama to wed, Hauwa’us unusual marriage arrangement and lifestyle, as well as animosity towards JK, would never allow it. I wondered if I had watched too many Nollywood movies recently for such plot twists to come easily to mind.
I logged out of the media space and clicked on the Economist magazine to read. I did not have the headspace to entertain such ridiculous thoughts. I made up my mind to stop checking online for JK and focus on myself and my girls.
I thought of calling my mom, but changed my mind. The last time I called, she begged me to contact JK, despite my instructions not to discuss JK at any time I called. She kept insisting that the girls need their father and would stubbornly not let me be, so I have given her a break equally. I still had not told my mother I was pregnant. I could almost predict my mom’s action. She would literally pass her phone to JK so that when my random call came through, he would answer it. Sometimes, I wonder who her child was, JK or me? She’s all about JK, this JK that, but can’t see what her precious JK had done to me, her own daughter. I love that woman to bits, but I swear, she is a sellout. Quite frankly, the connection between them sometimes makes me jealous. JK doesn’t play with my mom. He displays the same warmth and affection he has for his mom towards my mum. For that, he’s earned points with my family members. The way my mom sings his praises, he can do no wrong in her eyes. One day, my mum is on my side, and the next day she is on JK’s.
I waited for two hours and still did not hear from Hauwau. This was very unlike her. She would have fired me with emails threatening me to call her as soon as possible. The silence was louder than her many shrieks in person.
It is official. My friends hated me! I stayed away because I could not afford to take chances. JK will have his eyes on them, very sure they will have information about my location.
The girls and I had just come in. I picked them from school, which was a short five-minute walk from the house, on the days my schedule allowed it. On other days, the elderly housekeeper Madam Asanatou did. Banjul was a quieter and slower-paced town than Abuja. The population for the whole area was comparable to that of Asokoro or Jabi. The Gambians were friendly, and the girls and I settled in nicely.
I feel guilty about taking the girls from JK, but I couldn’t have left my precious babies alone, and I needed to take a walk. I could have been wrong, but I still think I could demonstrate resilience in any other situation, but not infidelity.
I sighed as I stepped into the cold air-conditioned house. The heat was something else. Abuja heat would have prepared us for Banjul. But no, the weather was something I could never get used to. I prefer the cold weather, but Anastasiya, a colleague who comes originally from Russia, warns me to be careful what I ask for.
It’s been three months since I left JK without a hint. I booked a flight to Lagos under a different name, and from there, we travelled to Accra by road and then took a flight to the Gambia.
I wasn’t stupid enough to leave any tracks. I did not want to be found. I needed to just disappear and build a life for myself and the girls.
I started work with the Gambian branch of my office in Nigeria. Still, two weeks after my resumption, there came another opportunity to work with UNESCO in the country. It was a perfect opening for me. I applied, and six weeks after a series of interviews, I got the role. I was extremely excited because the work time was flexible, allowing me to fit it around my kids. The girls attended the bilingual international school, paid for by the company. We were comfortable, and I could not complain.
I am already thinking of bringing my mum. She is still upset with me. And all my reasons why appear not to resonate with her.
I threatened not to call her again if she keeps moaning about JK. She should accept my decision and refrain from discussing him with me. I did not want to know what he did or anything about it. I was surprised he had not married the lady carrying his son. With the way his mother was excited about the birth of her grandson, one would think that they would have completed the marriage rites quickly and moved on with their lives. Maybe it was a quiet wedding. Whatever, it was not my business. I tried to convince myself I did not care. Still, I was the one poring over the Internet looking for updates on Jamal Kolawole Lawson or Lawson Technologies. JK had clinched that contract he was working on before I left. I knew, as it was all splashed over the news and one of the top technology blogs, I followed because of him. Luckily, his personal life had not been featured on those gossip blog sites.
I closed all my social media accounts and operated under a pseudonym. This was to keep in touch with friends, but it was more like ghosting, as I could never comment or give away my identity.
So, I stalked him through his pages, not that anything was going on there. He had not posted anything in the last four months. He had zero presence on social media.
Yes, I was that pathetic. I justified my actions. And I would not admit that I still love JK. I had a responsibility to know he was okay as the father of my girls.
In a moment of weakness, I dialed his number the moment I found out he won the contract, and I was expecting another child. JK picked the call and kept repeating “hello,” while I held on relishing the sound of his voice unable to utter a word. I broke down in silent tears when he asked, “Is that you, Meena?” Holding onto my mobile phone as if my life depended on it. I wanted to ask him how he was doing and congratulate him on his big win. I wanted to let him know we were expecting our third child. I just held on till he cut the call. If only I could forget why and how we got to this point.
I cradled my stomach, feeling life growing inside of me. Finding out that I am expecting our third child was a bittersweet feeling. Surprised because I had put measures in place not to have any more children, and shocked, as this was not the time in my life to carry a child and do so alone without JK. I wished I could turn the hands of the clock back again when all was good between us. I tortured myself with the thoughts of how excited JK would have been, even though we were not expecting it. It was still a blessing from God and worth celebrating. If it were a boy, it would have been his mother’s answered prayer. If it were a girl, we would have been ecstatic at the arrival of yet another version of me and the array of pink ribbons and dresses that forever adorned our home. They all came with their unique personality. You couldn’t help but fall in love with them and marvel at how these tiny, perfect beings came from two imperfect beings, and how quickly they kept growing, keeping you on your toes. The sassiness and know-it-all get to me on some days, the confidence and innocence bring out the fire to protect them as much as I can from the evil in the world. I remain their biggest cheerleader, letting them know they can be anything they choose to be, and nothing can stop them.
Tade was less than thrilled about the birthday dinner his mother had planned. Since when did she start organising dinners for his birthday, especially now that he was an adult? The only reason he’d shown up was because he had nothing better to do. Three days earlier, he’d tried booking a flight to the U.S., but their travel agent couldn’t seem to find one. She’d muttered something vague about unavailable flights, but it didn’t make sense to him.
This was the first birthday he and Tide would spend apart. Not even when she was heavily pregnant with the twins had they skipped celebrating together. Somehow, they always found a way to connect.
The venue was Roisaree, one of Ikoyi’s more upscale restaurants. While other restaurants were moving into Lekki and beyond. Roisaree had stationed itself in Ikoyi, near the affluent Banana Island neighbourhood. It was owned by a mixed-race Lebanese-Israeli woman from the famous Lawani family of Lagos Island, who married into the prominent Kusimo dynasty of Isale Eko. She had done well for herself, and the restaurant rivalled any other on the Island. After much pressure, she opened two additional branches, one in Ikeja on the Mainland and another in Asokoro, Abuja.
His mother was already seated when he arrived, dressed in a flowing white guinea bou-bou embroidered with teal thread. Her long, texturised hair was pulled back into a loose bun, and her caramel skin glowed, almost defiant in its radiance. It was hard to believe she was over fifty, let alone a grandmother.
Tade greeted her with a perfunctory kiss on the cheek and took his seat.
“Have you ordered anything?” he asked, pausing to take in the softly lit room. It wasn’t too crowded, which he appreciated.
“You didn’t book the whole place?” he teased. Molade was known not to do anything in half measures.
“Just half,” she replied without missing a beat.
He managed a small smile. “And here I was thinking you were softening. Losing your edge.”
“I’m so sorry to disappoint,” she said. Her voice carried a faint sadness, but her gaze remained steady and unyielding, the way he remembered.
Their relationship had never fully recovered after she disapproved of Solape. Even after Solape’s death and despite her repeated olive branches, things remained distant. Still, he knew she was there for him, and she adored his daughter, her only granddaughter, unconditionally.
“What?” Tade’s face lit up as he saw Tide approaching. Dressed in a fitted teal-blue knee-length gown that subtly echoed their mother’s teal embroidery, and white Michael Kors wedge sandals that gave her an extra four inches of height, she placed her teal clutch on the table. Hugging their mother first, before making her way to her twin.
“I should’ve known you had a hand in this dinner,” he said, teasing but visibly pleased.
“I could see your scowl from thirty yards out,” she quipped. “What’s got you all twisted up like you’re sitting on pins?”
“Please ask him,” their mother chimed in dryly.
He gave an exaggerated sigh. “Being kidnapped for dinner when I’d rather be at home eating fish pepper soup made by Chef Rita and a bottle of champagne, wishing myself a happy birthday while throwing a wish your way since you refused to pick up my call.”
“You know, try sha, why were you looking for tickets three days before and not earlier?”
“I was waiting for your plan, meet me in Seychelles, Maldives or Cape Verde or whatever weird place you intend to choose this year.”
For the last decade and more, they had hopped to very unpopular destinations, long before they became a Lagos outbound destination. Tide did all the groundwork and just announced, expecting him to drop everything he was doing and be there, which he always did. It was a mystery that Efosa allowed her to do her thing. It was an unwritten rule that their birthday was theirs alone. Solape, ingeniously, chose to celebrate his birthday a week earlier.
Tide placed her order, Linguine ai Frutti di Mare. Fresh linguine pasta delicately tossed with wild-caught tiger prawns, tender calamari, Scottish diver scallops, and Mediterranean mussels, all simmered in a white wine, cherry tomato, and garlic infused broth. The dish was finished with a touch of Calabrian chilli, a hint of lemon zest, and a drizzle of cold-pressed Sicilian olive oil. She thanked the waiter and joined the conversation.
They had a great time catching up. It was lovely to be all together in one place after a long time, but they did not fail to notice their mothers’ quietness as the evening went on.
“Mom, is the food not okay?” Tide asked, her tone laced with concern. She and Tade exchanged a glance. They’d both noticed their mother picking at her meal.
“I try new dishes… and struggle to enjoy them,” Molade said with a soft shrug.
“Want to order something else?” Tade offered, already motioning for the waiter.
“No, I’m fine,” she said, then paused. “But there’s something I need to share. And I am afraid it’ll shock you. I’ve had a few weeks to process it, but it’s still… big.”
“Are you sick?” Tade asked quickly, concern etching his features. It was the kind of expression Molade wished she could frame. It was a glimpse of the son who, somewhere deep down, still loved her as he had before Solape came into their lives.
For the next ten minutes, Tade and Tide listened in stunned silence as their mother recounted how she’d found Dr. Lanre Braitwaite listed as the doctor who took delivery of Dunni Adesida.
“Mom!” Tade objected, getting frustrated with his mother’s insistent need for background checks.
“You are still doing this, your FBI moves.” The girl does not want to have anything to do with me, so you can rest now. I hope you are happy.”
Tide gestured to him to calm down. “Let’s hear what mum has to say.”
Molade told them about her visit to his office and how, by sheer coincidence and shock, she had met him there.
“Mom, who is he?” Tide asked, her brow furrowed.
“He’s your father,” Molade said quietly, the words dropping like a bomb between them. “I didn’t know he was alive. It was not until I saw the birth certificate, dated well after his supposed death. I was told he’d died, but it turns out that wasn’t true.”
She took a shaky breath. “I went to see him, but… the meeting didn’t go well.”
“Why didn’t he ever contact us?” Tide asked, her voice a whisper.
“Because he never knew you existed,” Molade replied. “When he met Tade, he got curious about your name, which is his middle name, and the surname… it all clicked, especially when he found out I was your mother. He’s been out of the country most of the time, doing medical outreach programs, but he’s back now.”
Tade and Tide sat frozen. It was too much to absorb all at once. How were they supposed to process the fact that their father wasn’t dead—had never been dead—and they were only finding out in their thirties?
“When can we see him?” Tide finally asked.
“He’s here,” Molade said softly, gesturing toward a man seated at another table.
The man stood and walked over to their table at Molade’s gesture. Tears filled his eyes. He didn’t just have one child. He had two grown ones. And grandchildren.
“I’m so sorry,” he began, voice trembling. “If I’d looked for your mother… if I’d even tried… I would’ve found you. I can’t give you back the years we lost, but if you’ll let me, I’d like to be part of the years ahead.”
Tide was crying now. Tade, still stunned, only nodded. The realisation hit him slowly—the man he had randomly met weeks ago, who had reacted so strangely upon hearing Molade’s name, was his father. There were so many questions, so much to catch up on.
Anyone watching might have thought it was just an intimate family dinner. They would never have guessed it was a reunion of life after death, of a family finding its way back to itself.
Molade Thomas tossed her phone into the drawer. She knew she should pick up the call, but she wasn’t ready to have a conversation with Lanre. They have all been busy the last couple of weeks following the aftermath of the rescue of Dunni as well as the mad dash to set up the Sambisa Minning company. She could understand the need for the children to know their dad was alive, but did not understand the urgency. If the children had survived 30-plus years of their lives without their father, what would a few weeks’ delay change? She’d tried many times in her head, replaying the different scenarios of how to broach the subject with them. Tide was away in the US, and it was crucial to reveal the information to them at the same time.
She tried envisaging each child’s reaction. Tade was the cool one who would take the information and need more time to reflect, while Tide would be the first to find her voice and start firing questions, showing excitement and start planning the first meeting. When she’s done, Tade will take over with a third-degree questioning. She was, however, unable to ascertain whether they would be easily forgiving, considering the role she playedin accepting their father’s death without seeing the grave or contacting his family. She believed her dad’s report and forged on with her life.
Molade is transported to a moment when the twins were 10 years old. They had returned from school in preparation for a Father’s Day event at school. “Mummy, Daddies are to come to school for Father’s Day next week,” Tide announced, the appointed spokesperson for the moment. They had a pattern where they took the lead in speaking interchangeably. In the earlier days, as a mum, she used to play mind games about who would be the spokesperson for the moment, but gave up when she never got it right. “Your daddy is in heaven. He can’t come.” Molade explained. It was something they had all come to terms with.
“Can’t we get another daddy to come for us, or rent one?” Molade almost choked on her food.
“Rent a dad?” she asked bewildered.
“Yes, can’t you rent anything?” Tide asked sounding more grown up than her 10 years of age.
Molade was more shocked at how transactional she sounded.
“I saw it in a movie. The man rented a girlfriend to take home.”
” And where did you see this movie?”She asked troubled at what the children were being exposed to.
“Auntie Felicia was watching it on Africa Magic.” Auntie Felica was their housekeeper doubling as the twins nanny. She made a mental note to discuss with the housekeeper.
“You can’t rent a human being. It borders on lies. If you have to rent, then the relationship is not true, and you are expecting both parties to pretend.” After a long pause, “You are right, mum. I saw that in the movie too.” Not one to give up, she followed relentlessly. “We still need a dad, though, for Father’s Day.”
“I will talk to grandpa to see if he can come.”
Even though Tade seemed disengaged from the conversation, they responded simultaneously.
“No! “they both chorused.
“No one has a daddy with grey hair like grandpa in our class,”said Tide with frown.
“Uncle Jamiu can come,” Tade offered logically.
“That sounds like a plan. What do you say, young lady?” Any idea from her twin was always the best idea.
“Yeah, we could do that, but he must dress like a daddy.”
“How do daddy’s dress?” Molade asked curious.
“Hmmm like grandpa, but without grey hair,” Tide responded nodding confidently.
Back to present day.
Molade made up her mind, she would tell them in person. She reached for her phone to call Tide. When Tide’s call suddenly came through.
“I was just about to call you,” Molade said.
“I wasn’t sure if this was a good time, considering all your numerous meetings, but I took the risk,” came Tide’s voice from the other end of the phone.
“So, what were you calling me for, mum?” Tide added.
“Can’t I call to greet you?” Molade chuckled, feigning offense.
“Mum, it’s Monday, not Sunday, I know you, this is no social call,”Tide interjected.
Molade could not but release the laughter still refusing to admit any guilt. “Okay, you go first.”
“Efosa and I are relocating back to Nigeria. We arrive a few days before Tade and I’s 33rd birthday. Tade doesn’t know yet. It’s a surprise. Please plan a dinner anything with him on that day but make sure he doesn’t have a surprise plan of his own.”
“You two ask more of me than my biggest business deals.”
“Nah! Not the woman who took down a whole entity and is now building a mining company on grounds others feared to tread. I am learning from the best.”
“Yeah, yeah my lips are sealed, Mum,” Tide laughed, the sound bouncing down the line.
“Fine. I’ll try.”
“Promise to keep him in the country, whatever it takes.”
“I’ll try, Tide. I’ll try. I still can’t promise to tie your brother up and make sure he does not leave the country on whatever shenanigans you two always do on your birthday.”
“Bye Mum, love you!”
Molade sighed with relief. She could not have come up with a better plan. She had barely put down her phone when Lanre barged into her office followed by her staff apologising.
Molade, waved off her apologies while focusing on Lanre. “Your choice of entry into my office is becoming boring,” Molade stated drily. “Maybe you should tell your staff to stop trying to prevent me from coming in or pick up your damn phone.” Molade raised her head with a piercing gaze, the kind that could bore a hole through steel. Lanre gazed back unfazed, taking his seat in front of her without an invitation. Molade stared back, resolving not to speak, playing the silent contest of power game. “Have you told the children?”
The question made her stomach tighten. A bitter taste coated her tongue of regret. She hated that she had to crush whatever hope flickered in his voice, but time was something she needed. You don’t just walk into someone’s life and announce that their dead father is alive. This wasn’t just a confession, it was an upheaval.
“This is life altering, Lanre,” she muttered quietly in disgust. “Can you think beyond yourself and about how they would process this information. The emotions… Shock. Anger. Grief. Disappointment. Betrayal. Maybe even relief. But I can’t predict it. I want to tell them at the right time, in a way that won’t undo everything I’ve built over the years with them. I haven’t always been the best mother, but I’ve always been present. Always fought for their best interest. This could shatter the relationship we’ve built.”
What she did not say was this would shatter what is left of the fickle relationship she had with Tade. He had not forgiven her for her disapproval of his dead wife.
Lanre’s voice was steady. “The longer you wait, the harder it’ll be to convince them why you held the information from them. They are adults. Telling them the moment you found out will build their trust and bring them into the journey with you as you navigate this new reality. You would build a connection of dealing with something new together, not let them feel left behind.”
Molade gave a faint smile, Lanre had spoken well but it was easier said than done.
“You always had a way of putting things into perspective.”
“And we’re in this together,” he assured her.
A quiet warmth touched her chest, a thawing sensation, like the first signs of rain after a long, harmattan season. But she fought to keep her composure. She was, after all, Molade Thomas.
“Give me a week,” replied Molade curtly. This was not the time to breakdown.
Lanre stood up. He seemed to want to say more but decided against it.
“I’ll wait for a week. If I don’t hear from you, I’ll speak to the young man myself.”
Molade caught the weight behind his words. A subtle threat delivered calmly. Thirty years had passed, and they were no longer the same people. Strangers, bound only by memory and a broken bond. Technically, they were still married. What did that even mean now? Was he married to someone else? Would she need a divorce? Could you be married and not really married?
For so long, she had worn her widowhood like armour, dignified, untouchable. Now, that armour felt like a lie. She wasn’t a widow, but she wasn’t exactly a wife. An ex-widow? A returned from the dead spouse?
“Since when did you start poking your nose into my business dealings?” “Mom, this is not some business game, merger, acquisition, or cold profit projection. We are talking about human lives—wives, mothers, sisters, and aunties… not cows. Though these days, it feels like cows get more sympathy than missing women.”
“Tade, I do not have all morning to listen to your political speech on the failed state and how you and I sit on opposite sides of the fence, yet you benefit from the returns of my business and connections.”
Tade ran his hands through his low afro in frustration. “I want Dunni rescued tonight. I’m unsure what the rescue team hired by her office is doing. We were told to back off, that they had it covered, but it’s been three days, and I’m going out of my mind.”
Their conversation was halted by a ruckus at the door, with the receptionist attempting to stop a man from entering. “I’m so sorry, ma. He walked straight in after I asked if he had an appointment.”
Molade gazed at her receptionist in disgust. She’d deal with her later. She didn’t get to where she was by entertaining people who couldn’t do their jobs regardless of the obstacles. “How can I help you?” she asked coolly, addressing the man like they had never met.
Tade stared at the man, trying to place the face—then it hit him. The man from the restaurant who acted strangely when he mentioned his mom. He watched his mother’s indifferent demeanour.
“To what do I owe the honour of your time and presence? Last, I remember, you wanted nothing to do with me.” She was never going to tell him about the children. That ship had sailed when he threw her out of his office a few weeks ago.
“Dr Larry,” Tade stood up to greet him. “Fancy meeting you here. I didn’t know you knew my mother. I was just about to leave.” Turning to his mom and putting his hands together in a pleading gesture, “Do something for me.”
Molade nodded, grateful that Tade took the cue to leave. She had no intention of letting him know that the father they all believed was dead was, in fact, very much alive—especially since that father had wanted nothing to do with her. If they had survived all these years without him, they certainly didn’t need him now.
As soon as the door closed behind Tade, Molade asked sharply, “To what do I owe this visit? Last time we met, you wanted nothing to do with me.” She had no idea why he was there, but she wanted him gone faster than he barged in. She could only imagine the stress her receptionist was under. She’d have to have a serious conversation with her. Her time was up—she’d be transferred to another department. Such carelessness couldn’t be condoned, even if it wasn’t entirely her fault.
“I would’ve liked the young man to stay. This concerns him,” Lanre said.
Molade’s head snapped up from her screen. “Why would you want to talk to him?”
“Molade, I don’t have time for games. Why is Tade bearing my middle name and surname?”
Against her earlier decision not to tell him, she saw there was no point in pretending anymore. He’d figured it out. “Because he is your son,” she said calmly, almost daring him to react.
Lanre sat down, stunned into silence. A thousand thoughts ran through his head. His heart raced. He had suspected it but didn’t want to believe it.
“He has a sister,” Molade added.
Lanre stared at her like she was mad. A sister? Was she trying to pin another child on him?
“Tade has a twin sister,” she clarified, reading the question in his eyes.
They hadn’t been together for over thirty years, but Molade knew Lanre like she knew herself—the slight twitch of his mouth when he was sceptical, the double blink in his left eye when he was processing information, the way his right brow arched when he finally understood. He had aged—salt-and-pepper hair and beard—but he was still the same handsome man she once loved. One day, he was gone—vanished. Her father later told her he was dead. Something in her died that day, too. It was the children who kept her sane while she threw herself into the family business to numb the grief.
“If you’re in doubt, do a DNA test.”
“Have you told them I’m alive, now that you know?”
“No. The way you threw me out of your office, I figured there was no point. They’ve survived without you till now. They can continue without you.”
The words cut deep. In one second, he was a father—not to one, but two grown children. Possibly even a grandfather. It was a lot.
“Did you ever try to visit my grave after they told you I was dead?”
“No,” Molade said quietly, realizing how foolish she’d been to trust her father blindly. He never accepted Lanre, the son of a cocoa farmer, into their elitist world.
Lanre had only come to confirm his suspicions, suspicions sparked when he saw Tade weeks ago. Two children, in their mid-thirties, whom he knew nothing about. But he couldn’t blame her entirely—he walked away. That she was told he was dead was his fault, too. He’d made no effort to contact her. She was dead to him then. But in cutting her off, he had lost so much more.
“When are you going to tell them? I’d like to meet them. Do you have a photo of the girl?”
Molade passed him her phone. The woman in the photo was stunning—a feminine version of the boy. He’d never have guessed they were his. While he trusted Molade wouldn’t lie about something so serious, he’d still do a DNA test. He couldn’t afford to pour his heart into a lie, not after losing so much time.
“These kids weren’t hidden. They’ve been on magazine covers, blogs—you name it. I’m surprised you never saw anything.”
“You were dead to me, Molade. I didn’t want to hear or see anything about the Thomas family. I stayed away—spent most of my time abroad, doing aid work. My work became my life.”
What he didn’t say was that work was his way of numbing the pain of losing her.
Molade winced. He must really hate her. And she couldn’t blame him. Her family had treated him horribly.
“When will you tell them?” Lanre asked again. “There’s no point delaying. I’ve already lost enough time.”
“Tade is going through hell right now. His fiancée was kidnapped.”
“Is that the girl who was with him when I saw him?”
“I suppose. Her name is Dunni. You delivered her.”
Lanre’s brows furrowed. “How’s that?”
“I saw her birth certificate. That’s how I found out you were alive.”
“Is that what happens now? People submit documents to marry into your family?”
“Not exactly,” she said, trying to deflect. “But we do our checks. You never know who’s coming in for love or for what they can get.”
“You learned from the best—your dad,” Lanre said dryly. Molade glared at him.
“That my father was wrong about you doesn’t mean there aren’t wolves out there.”
“This Dunni girl—what’s the situation?” Lanre asked, concern creeping into his voice.
Molade briefed him, leaving out her personal business involvement and the planned operation.
“We’ll have to wait until it’s over,” Lanre said, standing and handing her his card. “You can reach me on either number. I’ll be out of the country for the next few weeks, but let me know when it’s safe, and I’ll come back.”
Molade got up to walk him out, but Lanre waved her off. “Don’t worry. And please, show that lady some mercy. There was nothing she could’ve done to stop me. I know how this works—and you’ve probably already decided to fire her. But for the sake of what we once shared, keep her. Sometimes, you win loyalty that way.”
Molade stood frozen. Who was Lanre to walk back into her life and start telling her how to run a business she’d built and sustained for over thirty years without him? The audacity. But deep down, part of her smiled—because, somehow, he still cared.
The last light of the sun bled into the horizon, staining the sky in hues of orange and deep purple. The air was thick, carrying the dry scent of dust and sweat, mingling with the distant smoke that curled in ominous tendrils. Each breath Dunni took felt heavier than the last, her limbs screaming in protest. She had been the strong one, the one whispering words of courage to Lana, forcing a smile when despair threatened to choke her. But now, her strength was slipping away like sand through clenched fingers.
She turned to check on Lana, and the sight froze her blood.
“Lana,” she whispered, her voice barely above the whisper of the evening breeze. “Lana?” Her fingers trembled as she reached out, tapping her friend’s arm. No response.
A cold wave of dread swept through her, sinking deep into her bones. “Lana, wake up!” she pleaded, her voice rising with each desperate call. Her hands shook as she grasped Lana’s shoulders and shook her gently, then violently.
Two men rushed toward her, their faces shadowed in the dim light. One reached out to check for a pulse, the other bent to lift Lana’s body. But Dunni flung herself over her friend, clutching her with a strength she didn’t know she had.
“No! Get back!” she screamed, her voice raw with anguish.
More hands came, rough and unyielding, prying her away. She fought, kicked, thrashed, her cries splitting the silence of the night like a shattered mirror.
“She’s just sleeping,” she muttered, her breath hitching. “She’ll wake up soon. She just needs to wake up.”
She rocked herself, hugging her knees, her eyes wide and unfocused. Around her, the other women stood in silence, their faces carved with sorrow and fear. They had all learned to speak without words—through glances, through the weight of shared suffering. But Lana had been her anchor, the only voice that had kept her sane in this madness. Now, that voice was gone.
The men started rounding them up. A shadow loomed over her, his face set in hard lines.
“Tashi mu wuce.” His voice was like a hammer striking cold steel.
Dunni barely heard him. She was drowning in a haze, floating outside herself, her body refusing to move. The man barked again, his tone sharper. When she didn’t respond, a pair of hands seized her, yanking her up. She flailed, her screams cutting through the heavy night air.
Then she caught a whiff of the man holding her—an unbearable stench of unwashed flesh and dried blood. Her stomach turned, and a wave of nausea drained the fight from her. Her body slumped, her strength leaving her as quickly as Lana had. Satisfied, the man set her down roughly and walked away. She staggered forward, joining the line of women who marched onward, their feet dragging through the dust, their silence heavier than the darkness that surrounded them.
Three days had passed. Three days of hell.
Tade stood in his office, his phone pressed to his ear, his body thrumming with restless energy.
“What’s the update?” he demanded, his voice clipped. His chief security officer’s voice came through, laced with tension.
“It’s all over the news. The women were taken by Boko Haram. They’re being held in Sambisa Forest. The president has vowed action, but you know how these things go.”
Tade clenched his jaw, flipping through news channels. The flickering screen showed sensationalised reports, shaky footage, talking heads spewing government promises. It was all noise, all propaganda. None of it had hastened the rescue of Dunni and the rest of the high-profile women.
A different kind of war was raging beneath the surface.
Information was surfacing about lithium and gold buried beneath the Sambisa Forest. Molade Thomas, the richest woman in Africa, had already set her sights on the land. She had partnered with Senator Isiaku Balla, a man whose interests were as murky as the waters he waded in. To the world, they spoke of conservation, a grand plan to turn the forest into a game reserve. But Tade knew better.
Molade had an instinct for wealth, an almost supernatural ability to sniff out opportunities before anyone else. And if she was interested in Sambisa, it wasn’t for the wildlife.
She had been working her way into Borno for months, weaving a web of influence, waiting for the perfect moment. Now, with the hostage crisis unfolding, she had the perfect excuse to move in. Her trucks, loaded with aid for displaced civilians, were a front. She had already reached out to the army, the police, an independent security agency—offering ‘assistance’ in the rescue mission.
But Tade had heard whispers of another plan. One that would erase Sambisa Forest from existence.
Bello’s voice cut through his thoughts. “We move in tomorrow at midnight. If the hostages aren’t out by then, we bring them out ourselves.”
Tade exhaled slowly, his hands clenching into fists. “Twenty-four hours, MI Bello. Bring her back.”
By lunchtime, Moses had signed the paperwork, officially committing to start with the American firm in two weeks. However, he was leaving the following evening, with plans to work from the US and return later to sort out his house and other belongings. The weight of this decision hung heavily on him, a bittersweet mix of anticipation and sorrow that gnawed at his insides.
He dropped by Ola’s office, trying to keep his composure. “All done, boss.”
“Who is your boss? You’re leaving me because of a woman.” Ola’s voice was tinged with a hint of playful reproach, but his eyes betrayed concern.
Moses managed a small smile, one that barely touched his eyes. “It’s for the best, and you know it.”
“That’s why I’m not making your life more miserable and going easy on you,” Ola replied, more concerned about betraying his features than he wanted to admit.
“I’m willing to offer my shares to you and Dunni,” Moses said, his voice tight with the strain of holding himself together. He could feel the weight of his decision pressing down on him, threatening to crush the fragile control he was desperately clinging to. “If we call in the lawyer, we can get that sorted.” He tried to sound businesslike, but the words came out uneven, the pain he was drowning in clawing at the edges of his resolve.
“Not so fast, bro,” Ola cut in sharply, his tone a mixture of firmness and concern. “You may not be working for us, but you’re still a part of us—and a shareholder too. Resignation, yes, but no selling of your stake in the company.”
Moses shrugged, his gaze drifting to the window. “You’re the boss,” he muttered, staring out at the sprawling city of Lagos. He had never imagined living outside the country, but it was either that or drowning in the despair and pain that threatened to consume him. This resulted from waiting too long for the perfect moment to propose to Dunni instead of seizing the moment many years ago.
A knock on the glass door startled him. Dunni peeked through, her face bright with a smile. “Can we come in? I have someone to introduce to you guys.”
The man with her was clearly visible through the glass. “Finally, we become worthy to meet the mystery man,” Ola commented dryly, his tone masking the underlying tension.
Moses shot Ola inquisitively, then walked over to Tade and extended his hand. “Moses Akale, soon to be ex-partner at the firm. Pleased to meet you.” His voice was steady, but inside, a storm raged.
Dunni glanced at Moses, puzzled by his introduction. The last she knew, he was simply a partner, nothing more. She tried to catch his gaze, but Moses refused to meet her eyes, focusing all his attention on Tade.
“Pleased to meet you,” Tade responded politely, unaware of the undercurrents in the room.
Ola stood up to greet Tade. “We finally meet the mystery man. Happy for someone to take her off our hands.”
Moses shot Ola a death glare, but Ola merely shrugged, unperturbed. “You must be used to all the publicity with the recent blog posts.”
Moses observed a shift in Tade’s demeanour, noticing the discomfort that flickered across his face when the blogs were mentioned. Moses made a mental note to find out more about this man.
“Don’t tell me you read those blogs,” Dunni interjected, her tone light as she tried to defuse the situation. “Miriam sent it to me—our girl moving in billionaire circles.”
“You wish,” Dunni teased. “If Tade is a billionaire, I’m a zillionaire, and you all are zillionaire-plus.”
“I’ll see you guys later. I’m off for lunch.” Dunni’s tone was casual, but inside, she was determined. She wasn’t about to let Ola and Moses have their way, not with Tade. She didn’t trust them—no guy who’d ever come near her had met their impossible standards. “Do you want me to get you anything?” she added, her eyes already on the door.
Both men declined, and without another word, Dunni grabbed Tade’s hand and led him out, leaving an uneasy silence in their wake.
“Pleased to meet you, Dr. Tade Braithwaite. We hope to see you around,” Ola called out, his voice echoing in the room as the door closed behind Tade and Dunni.
Once outside, Moses quickly googled Tade Braithwaite. What he found made his heart sink further: Son of the richest woman in Africa, Molade Thomas. Lost his wife early this year to cervical cancer. Rumoured to have been engaged to Made Brown, a family friend, but the engagement was broken off. Made is still unmarried, and they hope they’ll get back together. Tade is a doctor who works solely for Lekki Consultants Hospital and is not involved in the family business run by his mother.
“Wow, our girl snagged a billionaire,” Moses muttered to himself, the words laced with bitterness. “Maybe that’s why I never stood a chance. I don’t have that kind of money.”
“You’re being a dickhead now,” Ola snapped, cutting through Moses’s self-pity. “Dunni’s never been about money, and you know it.”
Moses chuckled, though the sound was hollow. “You better not repeat that nonsense to Dunni. You’ll never be forgiven.”
“Yes, boss,” Ola replied, his tone softening. “When are you telling her you’re leaving?”
“I don’t know,” Moses admitted, his voice thick with uncertainty. “Don’t we have the strategy meeting later today? We can announce it to the team.”
Meanwhile, Dunni and Tade made their way to the car park. “There’s a decent restaurant within walking distance. Let’s try that,” Dunni suggested, her tone light, though she was secretly relieved they wouldn’t have to deal with Lagos traffic.
“Not expecting us to drive somewhere due to traffic?” Tade teased, raising an eyebrow.
Dunni smiled, though her mind was elsewhere, weighed down by the workload she could barely manage. She also had a conference in Abuja where she was a speaker, and the preparation was looming over her. She hesitated to mention work as an excuse, feeling guilty knowing how often she’d chided Tade for working too hard and not taking enough time to rest. “It’ll be easier for you to get back to work quicker without having to bring me back and then find your way,” she said instead, which wasn’t a lie.
Tade raised his hands in surrender. “You drive a hard bargain, Miss Adesida. Warn me not to negotiate with you in the future. Any hope to win is dead on arrival.”
When they arrived at the restaurant, Dunni sank into the soft chair, savouring the cool air from the air conditioner and the soothing classical music playing in the background. The calming decor, with its mix of browns and greens and the lively presence of plants, made the space feel almost like an oasis. The wide windows let in natural light, softened by the draperies to avoid any harsh glare from the sun.
A waiter soon approached, and Dunni ordered a Chapman while Tade opted for water. The vibration of her phone pulled her attention away. “One second,” she said, her eyes pleading as she glanced at Tade, who excused himself, mouthing “gents” as he left the table.
It was Emma on the other end. “Hey, girl, not a good time to talk,” Dunni said, trying to keep her voice light.
“Check your phone,” Emma insisted. “You’re trending.”
“I know,” Emma responded drily, tired of people referring to the blog post. “Don’t pay attention to all the lies.”
“What lies? What are you talking about?” Emma asked, confused.
“Read the link I sent you. It makes sense now that you choosing Tade over Moses. The lie in being the son of the richest woman in Africa.”
Dunni’s heart pounded as confusion turned to dread. “I don’t know what you’re saying. I’ll get back to you,” she replied, her voice shaky. When the call ended, she opened the link Emma had sent.
Her eyes widened in shock as she saw a picture of herself taken from her company’s website, accompanied by a profile. “Latest love interest to Tade Braithwaite, son to Molade Thomas, the richest woman in Africa,” the headline blared. Hurt, anger, and disappointment twisted into a knot in her stomach. Betrayal sank deep, cold and heavy. Tade had hidden this from her. They’d been engaged for two weeks, and he hadn’t thought to tell her this crucial piece of his identity. She couldn’t understand why he had kept something so significant from her.
Tade returned, immediately noticing the change in Dunni’s expression. Her face was a mask, devoid of the warmth he was used to. “Who is Molade Thomas?” she asked, her voice cold, almost unrecognisable.
“My mother,” Tade answered without hesitation, though he felt his heart sink. There was no point in denying it or trying to downplay the situation. It was time to come clean.
“When was I going to be told?” Dunni’s voice trembled with restrained fury. “Did you enjoy fooling me? Why did you hide that important fact from me?”
“It’s complicated,” Tade began, but Dunni cut him off.
“Please, uncomplicate it for me.” She kept her voice low, not wanting to cause a scene but barely holding back her rising anger.
“I didn’t want to be judged by my family’s wealth. I’ve worked hard for everything I have today—my degree, the hospital, my career—without relying on my family’s wealth or influence.”
“You lied to me, Tade. By not telling me, you lied. You took me for a ride,” Dunni’s voice wavered, but her resolve remained firm. “I joked so many times in the last 24 hours about becoming a zillionaire if you were a billionaire, and not once did you set me straight. You had all the time in the world, Tade, but you chose to keep me in the dark.”
“I was going to tell you today.”
“Was that why you said I shouldn’t read anything online? You had no plan to tell me and were only doing so because the news was out there. Was our engagement a lie, too?”
Dunni grabbed her bag, standing abruptly. “I’ve lost my appetite. I can head back to the office. You don’t need to miss your lunch on my account.”
Tade reached for her hand, desperation seeping into his voice. “Dunni, please don’t go. Let’s talk.”
But Dunni was resolute. “I’m not in the mood right now to talk. There’s nothing to say. Your actions have said it all.”
Tade let his hand drop to his side, his heart heavy with regret. The laughter of two young girls passing by only deepened his misery. “You should run after her,” the shorter one offered sympathetically, trying hard to stifle her laughter. The other old back burst into merciless giggles and nodded in agreement.
He sat down, needing a moment to breathe and gather himself. The last thing he wanted was advice from anyone, let alone two young girls who knew nothing about the complexities of life. Dunni had never been one to mince words or speak in riddles. When she said yes, she meant it with every fibre of her being. He would give her the time she needed.
21stcenturybelle 